


The Last

by chaoticamanda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Other, sort of alternate ending to Do You Believe In miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticamanda/pseuds/chaoticamanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that's left is a letter and a dead body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last

When a room is left in a hurry, the next person who enters always knows. Books are left flipped to certain pages, boxes are opened, miscellaneous accessories are tossed aside, and other things of that like. There is almost always a presence left behind when someone leaves a room empty that the next person to enter will feel, even if it is for the briefest, most fleeting moment. 

When Sam Winchester stumbled into the room where the King of Hell had once been held hostage, the room where he’d tried to contain his brother, he felt a presence. Dean had summoned Crowley, Sam had known that already. They’d left the room quickly; Dean had not even bothered to close neither book nor container he’d put to use. Sam could feel the desperation, the frustration that Dean had felt here. It was almost tangible through his grief. 

Sam wasn’t completely sure if he meant to kneel on the ground or if his legs just gave out, but either way he ended up bent over the chalk on the floor, lighting a match. “God dammit Crowley, you son of a bitch,” his mutterings as he tried over and over again to summon the King of Hell was the only sound besides the striking of matches. 

After several tries, Sam let the box of matches fall from his shaking hand, leaning back on his haunches. His face was tilted toward the ceiling, and for a moment that seemed to halt the tears, but it didn’t last very long. Dean Winchester was dead. His big brother was dead. 

Watching the Angel blade pushing through Dean like he was only water and it a stick had caused a slow, gut-wrenching feeling. He’d known then that his brother was going to die. Metatron stood by, but Sam had ignored him. He should have demanded that metatron heal Dean, make him better. Sam was a fool. 

The sobs that wracked his body were animal, and he slumped over onto the cold, stone floor. The smell of smoke was a sour taste in his mouth as he choked it in between his sobs. Everything was wrong, so very wrong. It was his fault. If he’d never told Dean that he wouldn’t have brought him back if they were under the same circumstances as they had been at the church, Dean wouldn’t have gone off with Crowley. He’d never have met Cain. 

It occurred to Sam that his older brother had started out as the Sword of Michael and had died with the Mark of Cain. No one was around to bring him back, not this time. Sam had the awful feeling that hollowed out his gut and settled there that he was utterly alone now. The last Winchester. Crowley might not even be able to bring Dean back, if he ever showed his cowardly face again. He doubted that Cas had any power to bring Dean back either, or if Cas was even alive right now. For all Sam knew, Dean was in purgatory. 

Time passed, but Sam did not care to wonder how much. Crowley did not come. He finally resigned himself to cleaning up the mess that had been made. He could find other ways to save Dean. It was when he was putting the chalk away that it caught his eye. An envelope with his name on it was half covered by other supplies, poking out just enough to be noticeable. It was in Dean’s handwriting. 

Sam snatched it out of the small box that held ingredients, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. A strange numbness fell over him as he clumsily tried to open the envelope and pull out the letter. 

_Sammy,  
I know I once said that we didn’t need to have any chick flick moments, but I guess things have changed. I want you to know that I love you and I would have done anything for you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry Sammy. I know things between us have broken, and I know it’s my fault. I know you’re not exactly my number one fan and you’re probably going to hate me more after this. I don’t know if you’re going to find this or when you will. I’m going to die. The Mark is changing me. I’m going to end Metatron, but it’s going to end me. I want you to know that I tried. I tried to protect you and I tried to take care of you. I tried to be better. I failed. Tell Cas that I’m proud of him. I’m proud of both of you. I know you’re going to find me. I know I’m going to die. I don’t want you to see it. I’m sorry Sam. Take care of my baby. If Charlie ever comes back, tell her I loved her too and take care of her and Cas for me. I’ve got to go. Goodbye, Sammy. _

In smaller letters at the very bottom of the note one word was scribbled; _bitch._ Sam could only choke out a strangled “Jerk,” before he collapsed again. He cried until his throat was sore and his head was pounding. When he finally was able to downgrade his sobs to silent tears, he clumsily made his way to Dean’s room, staggering through the doorway. 

Dean did not look peaceful.Sam had washed the blood off of his face and hands, but he was still dead. “Dean,” he swallowed. “I’m sorry. I was a terrible brother. We’re family. I’m sorry. Please come back. Please,” his voice broke once more. “Please, Dean. I need you. Cas needs you.”

It did no good to ramble at the dead, but Sam Winchester was a dsperate man. After a few minutes of useless pleading, Sam's eyes were drawn to the Blade. It was placed carefully in Dean's hand and Sam had not put it there. He resented the Blade; hated it even. His ragged breaths were the only thing in his ears as he slowly stepped forward, meaning to reach out and grasp the Blade. A solitary word escaped his lips as he bent to retrieve it, "Dean." 

Just as his long fingers reached the teeth of the jaw bone, it fell out of Dean's hands and a hand grasped Sam's wrist. Sam's head snapped up, his mouth hanging open. Hope spiked in his gut for the fewest of seconds before he met Dean's eyes. The hope froze in his gut, icy and stinging. The person looking at him was not his brother. 

Not anymore.


End file.
